Donovan Library
by jublke
Summary: When Sam is trapped inside Donovan Library, can Dean save him before he becomes the library's next victim? Set early in Season 2. Rated T for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. I am just borrowing them for fun.

This story is set early in Season 2. Rated T for swearing. You know, for Dean.

I'm still new to the fandom, so if you see any continuity or other errors, please drop me a line. My thanks to Demented MK for beta-reading. Any remains errors are mine.

A/N: Woo! I actually wrote something with a plot for once. :D I have one more chapter planned after this.

* * *

Sam squinted at the small print and rubbed his eyes. They'd spent two days in town, trying to track down a connection between several recent deaths in this dusty old library. Despite their exhaustive research, they'd turned up nothing suspicious. The Donovan estate had been turned over to the county after the death of the last male heir and was subsequently turned into a library. The town was so tiny that the library served as a central hub of activity. Sam and Dean had seen more people pass through the doors of Donovan Library than any other place in town, including the local burger joint, Dean's latest greasy obsession.

Having long grown bored with such tedious work, Dean had offered to pick up lunch. He was convinced they were on a wild ghost chase and told Sam as much. This left the younger Winchester alone in the basement of the near-abandoned building, eyes watering, his allergies clearly getting the best of him.

Ignoring the pain behind his eyes, Sam sniffed and opened another box of files. A layer of dust scattered about the small space, coating everything in a fine layer of powder. Sam sneezed.

"Bless you, young man."

Sam whirled about the room. He couldn't see anyone. "Hello?" he ventured cautiously.

"Over here," the voice replied.

Sam's eyes travelled to the corner.

"George, it's so good to see you again, my love," the voice said with delight. Laughter filled the small room. And then the lights went out.

* * *

Dean felt a sudden stabbing sensation in his chest, right about where his heart was. He slowed the Impala and pulled over to the side of the road. Glancing at the empty cheeseburger wrapper on the seat beside him, he wondered in a detached way if his eating habits had finally caught up with him. Clearly, he was having a heart attack.

Then he heard the voice. *Dean?!* Sammy's voice. Directly in his mind.

 _Oh, crap_ , thought Dean. He rubbed at his chest and tried to slow his breathing.

*I don't know if you can hear me ...* Dean swallowed and washed a hand down his face. *I need your help, Dean.*

He had the Impala in gear by the end of that sentence. Flipping the car around with a expert hand, he raced back to the library.

 _Hold on, little brother, I'm coming._

* * *

"Where are we?" Sam asked. His fear had ratcheted down a notch when the spirit hadn't attacked him, but his hands were still bound and it was pitch black. He'd been maneuvered through at least two doorways - which he'd noticed because he tripped over the sills - but after that, he'd lost track of where he was.

The voice cackled in delight. "The correct question, my dear, is when."

Sudden illumination revealed an ornate ballroom. Lanterns and candles filled the space with flickering light. White roses in cut crystal vases decorated a long wooden table. Sam recognized the filigree on the walls. Despite his fear, his curiosity was piqued. "Is this the library? It looks so different."

"Wasn't it grand? Look."

Sam watched as a young couple entered the ballroom. The woman wore gloves and a dress that fell to her knees. The man, tall with a shy smile, wore a dapper suit and chewed a cigar. He pulled out a chair for the woman. Neither seemed to notice Sam standing in the corner with his hands bound, even when he rattled the chains. Sam noticed, with nausea swirling in his gut, that his body didn't appear entirely solid. He fought down the urge to call for help. It appeared unlikely that the couple would hear him anyway and Sam didn't want to risk pissing off this spirit, especially since it seemed to be able to alter his perception of time and space.

The voice sighed. "My George. So handsome."

"Is that you?" Sam could see the young woman's cheeks turn pink when the man said something to her. The couple shared a smile.

"Those were better days," the voice said.

* * *

Dean thudded down the stairs of the library, earning a glare from the elderly librarian. "Shhh!" she admonished.

Dean ignored her as he strode toward the small room in the back where he and Sam had been working. "Sammy!" he called out. No answer. Dean's pace quickened as he peered into each of the rooms leading off of the main hall. No Sam.

Finally, he pushed open the door at the back to find Sam asleep at the table, his head resting on a stack of old files. He blew out a sigh. "Rise and shine, Princess."

When Sam didn't respond, Dean stepped closer to him and shook his shoulder. "Sam?"

*Dean!*

The man in the leather jacket stared at his brother, who hadn't spoken a word and appeared to be sound asleep. _I must be losing my mind._ "Sammy?" He shook his brother more forcefully this time.

*Right here, Dean.*

Dean ignored the helpful little voice in his head and checked his brother's vital signs. Pulse was elevated, breathing erratic. Dean placed a hand on Sam's forehead. The kid was burning up.

"Shit."

*Dean, you've got to bring me back.*

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said, trying to propel his gargantuan brother into a standing position. "Let's get you out of here and we can treat that fever."

*Dean! You can't do that!*

"What?" Dean was so annoyed at Sam's tone of voice that it took him a few minutes to realize that he had responded aloud to the voice in his head. "Great, I really am losing my damn mind." He set Sammy down and ran a hand through his hair.

*No, you're not. I'm the one who's lost my mind. I'm trapped in the library. She's taken me.*

Dean stared at his Sasquatch of a brother. "You're right here, Sammy. I got you. You're just delirious. You're running a high fever and it's making you do some odd psychic shit. I need to get you out of -"

*Dean! Listen to me. I can't leave the library. I'm not inside my body anymore. She's taken me back in time.*


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the comments on the last chapter, mb64 and Allen92909, and a tip of the hat to those who have favorited or followed. I hope you like the ending!

My thanks again to Demented MK for beta-reading. Any remaining errors are mine. I own nothing that you recognize, sadly.

* * *

The temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees, Dean was sure of it. He collapsed into the chair nearest Sam and tried to control his breathing. He rubbed hard at his temples. The air was stuffy in this back room and he could feel his lungs reacting adversely to the dust.

 _Sammy? What in the hell are you talking about?_ he wondered, absently brushing his brother's bangs from his forehead.

No answer.

Maybe Sam couldn't read his mind, only project thoughts into Dean's? "Sammy? What in the hell are you talking about?" he repeated.

*Dean! Thank God you can still hear me. She's moving me again.* In a smaller, more pitiful voice, Sam added, *It's so dark in here, Dean.* He heard a cough. *I'm having trouble breathing.*

Dean leapt to his feet, eyes darting in all directions. "I don't see anything, Sammy. Where are you?"

The blue-haired librarian poked her head in with a frown. "The library will be closing in 30 minutes."

Dean had a bad feeling about this. He needed to get Sam back to himself before the library closed for the night. He gave the lady a strained smile, even as his eyes continued to dart about the room. "Sure thing," he said. She shook her head as she departed.

As the woman began to walk down the hall toward the staircase, Dean abruptly realized that he recognized her surname and pelted after her. "Uh, Mrs. Donovan," he said, catching her by the arm of her dark linen dress and glancing at her ID tag to confirm her name, "I'm interested in the history of the library itself." He turned on the Dean Winchester charm and gave her his best fake smile. "I'd love to hear the story of this beautiful building."

Warm eyes lit up her deeply lined face. "It was my husband's ancestral home. All of the Donovans lived here." Her smile faded. "Until George passed. We were so happy here but I was never able to give him a son."

*Dean, what are you doing? You're wasting ti -*

"Shut up, Sam," Dean grumbled under his breath.

The librarian lowered her brows at him again. "Were you speaking to me, young man?" Her eyes glowed blue at the same time Dean heard Sam yell in his mind.

*Dean, it's her! Be careful!*

He forced his heart to slow. He couldn't gank her yet, not with Sam missing. "Yes, Mrs. Donovan, I think we have a friend in common. My brother Sam?" Dean gestured toward the sleeping hulk of a man in the back of the library. He raised his eyebrows at her.

The old woman smiled. "Such a sweet boy, my George. I'm so glad he came back."

Dean's eyes darted back and forth as he thought through his weaponry. _What kind of spirit is this?_ he wondered. The woman looked human enough, except for that freaky blue glowing eye thing. "Lady, that's not your George. That's my brother Sam and I need him back. Now."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." She turned back and resumed her slow walk toward the stairs.

Dean grabbed her by the arm. "What do you mean, it's not possible?" He tightened his grip. "Sam, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

Sam's voice was faint in his mind. *I can hear you.* His voice was raspy. *I don't fe'l too good, Dee.*

"George died over fifty years ago, son. I can't bring him back." The old woman's eyes filled with tears. "I've tried. All I have are the memories." Her eyes softened, and he sensed she was reliving the past. "Such beautiful memories ..."

He could hear his brother gasping for breath, sounding distinctly as if he was choking. "Lady, you'd better snap out of it, now. You can't live in the past. George wouldn't want that. Your memories are killing my brother."

As Mrs. Donovan's eyes focused on Dean, he could hear his brother's raspy breathing even out.

"Oh, no!" she whispered. "I didn't do it again, did I?" Her wide eyes appeared cloudy and disoriented. "I get confused sometimes. I do miss him so much."

Dean stared at the crestfallen woman before him and fought with the urge to choke the living daylights out of her, spirit or not. His voice was cold. "What did you do with my brother?"

"I took him back with me. He seemed like such a nice young man, just like my George ..."

Dean shook her by the shoulders, hard, before she lost her mental focus again. "And then what?"

"Well, you came and ran through my library. I had to come back. You shouldn't run in the library, young man. There are rules, you know."

Dean let go of the old woman and scrubbed at his eyes. "And that's when you left Sammy." He took a deep breath and fought to contain his anger. Gripping her elbow, he stared at her and spoke in a firm, clear voice. "Listen to me, Mrs. Donovan. What you did made my brother very ill. You can't live in the past and neither can he. He's going to die if you don't bring him back. Right now." He walked the old woman over to where Sammy was slumped, face flushed bright red, breath coming in ragged gasps. Dean could hear Sam's labored breathing in his mind as well. It was like hearing your own voice echo on the telephone line.

"Oh, dear," she said, sadly. "I'll be back in a jiffy." There was a deep rumble. And then the lights went out.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes, he was on the floor of the library, surrounded by rubble. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through a tiny broken window, casting the room in a dim glow. Twisting his body around, he winced as he tore his wrist free from beneath a large brick. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek. Coughing, he rose to standing, cradling his left arm.

Sam roused at the same time from his pile of files. Miraculously, the table where he had slept was the only thing left standing in the room. Eyes blinking rapidly, Sam attempted to draw in air but coughed miserably instead.

"Sammy!" Dean slapped him on the back with his good hand. "You back with me?" he said, clearing his throat. It was hard to breathe with all of the dust and debris. Every bookshelf had toppled over, books and magazines spilling every which way.

"Dean! Man, am I glad to see you!" He looked around, coughing into his fist. "What happened? Where's -" A coughing jag stopped him.

"Mrs. Donovan? I don't know, but we need to get outta here." Sam nodded.

The brothers scrabbled and clawed their way out of the basement to emerge on the main floor of the library. Or what they thought was the library.

"What the -" Dean started.

"-hell?" finished Sam.

There was no library. There was nothing marking the space at all, just a sunny afternoon and an empty grassy lot. The Impala was parked on the street, looking much as it always did.

Dean and Sam stared at each other. Sam looked behind them. "Dean," he said in a croaky voice, his cough making his voice raspy. "There's nothing behind us but dirt." Indeed, the hole the boys had emerged from was earthen. No books, no papers, nothing but grasses and flowers. Sam coughed violently and spat.

"We need to get out of here," Dean decided. He began to walk toward the Impala, but a few steps in had Sam at his elbow.

"Easy there, Dean. You might have a concussion." Sam tugged at his brother's sleeve, eliciting a hiss. Sam's eyes narrowed. "Your arm okay?"

Dean blinked against the pain. "No worse than your lungs." He grunted and cleared his throat. "You okay to drive?" When Sam nodded, he handed his brother the keys. "Let's head to the motel. I could use a drink."

The boys stumbled their way across the empty field. There was an envelope on the windshield of the Impala, secured by a wiper blade. Sam tore open the fragile paper; Dean grabbed the contents. The note inside was yellowed with age and the handwritten ink had faded to a pale brown.

 _ **Dear Sam,**_

 _ **It was so lovely to meet you and your brother today. Thank you for visiting me. I've thought about what you boys said. Despite my love for George, you are right. I need to stop living in the past. I've decided to sell the family estate instead of donating it to the historical society for their new library.**_

 _ **Best wishes to you and your brother. I hope we can meet again one day.**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **Clarisse Donovan**_

Sam took the yellowed paper from Dean's shaking hand. "I think I'll join you for that drink."


End file.
